Steve left for Germany this morning. That was a really hard goodbye. Even with my mom here I am exhausted and it feels like there is no room for me. No space to be anything other than mama and daughter to the living.

*****

I realized again today that I am afraid of being out in public looking pregnant. Like the well meaning security guard at the hospital who congratulated me as I was wheeled off to have a baby that was too young to live, I am dreading the pain of a “when are you due?” or “how far along?”. I don’t think I can lie. I don’t know if I’ll cry but it’s likely. I want to hide my belly, want to stay hidden until it’s back to the size where people will simply wonder if I have a little weight to lose.

*****

Our delicious dinner tonight was made and delivered by a friend with the cutest little baby bump. She feels like crap but she looks adorable. Ada wanted to know if she was bleeding or if her baby died. Then she wanted to read “Mama, What’s in There?” – a book about pregnant bellies – five times. Staying numb feels awful but today, right now, I don’t know any other way to be.

To the beautiful bright shining light who chose this family to be a part of, happy 3rd birthday. I am so grateful for you and so in love with you. You make me laugh. You fill my heart so full I’m amazed it doesn’t burst for the sheer joy of watching you be you. You are the counterpoint to all this sadness. You take my breath away.

I’ll love you forever

I’ll like you for always

As long as I’m living

My baby  you’ll be.

–Robert Munsch, I’ll Love You Forever

Benjamin came home today. What’s left of his tiny body is held in a small white box with his name, date of death, city, date of cremation and the name of the funeral home. The box came wrapped in a big soft forest green bag. Appropriately somber but not black. Rich looking. Like moss on a forest floor.

My mom held the little box against her chest and cried.

I simply ached as I remembered the weight of 1 pound, 1 ounce on my heart, his tiny perfect fingers and toes, his arms and legs too thin, his skin purple, his eyes closed with no lashes yet, his nose – more like mine than Steve’s, his little penis, so shockingly well-formed. My son. My perfect, dead son.

I wonder when his heart stopped beating. I try to remember the last time I felt him move. I think it was in the hospital that night but I’m not sure. They couldn’t find his heart beat but I believe it was beating in time to mine. Slowing down. Then they took the monitor off and all I could do was love him and let him go.

Just before they put the needle in my spine, the doctor opened the door. He was still in his street clothes after being on the phone with the perinatologist. I think he was asking if there was any reason the specialist might think that Benjamin was big enough to survive. He looked at me and told me that NICU wouldn’t get involved at 23 weeks unless the mother told them to do everything they could to save the baby. I shook my head and said something, calmly, sadly. I didn’t want them involved. He closed the door. It didn’t matter anyway, the decision wasn’t mine to make.

Some day soon, we’ll decide what we want to do with the little white box. For now it sits quietly on a shelf, a reminder of hope lost and dreams that will no longer come true.

When I miscarried my first pregnancy, I needed something tangible to remember the little being who was growing inside me. I found a thin hammered gold ring and placed it inside my wedding band, closest to my heart.

When I miscarried again in January of this year, I thought about getting another band. In the end I decided one would be enough of a reminder for both.

Now, again, I need something tangible to hold on to. Not that I will ever forget Benjamin. Ever. My heart will always carry the joy and the scar. But I want something to hold, to wear, to start conversations, to show the world that I have a son, though no one will ever meet him.

I have wanted to order a necklace from Ausloe Design for over a year. I decided this would be a good time. I love that it’s hand made and that I can add to it in the future. For now, I simply wanted a charm and birthstone for each of my children. Cheryl cried with me on the phone when I ordered.

It arrived today.

I have my something tangible.